Jonathan Roldan's Blog

Don't get
me wrong. I like being pampered as
much as the next guy when I go on vacation and stay at a hotel.There's nothing wrong with room
service; a great restaurant; a spa; fluffy robes and a (Okay...I admit it)...a
mint on my pillow and cookies!

Surely,
I've stayed in some of the best in Baja...Hotel Cabo San Lucas, The Finesterra,
Palmas de Cortez, Spa Buenavista among so many great resort properties and
enjoyed them all tremendously.

But that's
not usually how I roll.I WISH we
could do that all the time, but that's just not very economical.

But,
especially inpre-internet days 15
or 20 years ago... In the days
before all those sites like Trip Advisor and Yelp and other websites arose todissect every aspect of every resort
from the size of the pool to the softness of the toilet paper and the fragrance
of the shampoo; there weren't many resources to finding a place to lay your
head.

There was
alwaysthedog-eared dusty copy of dad's
Auto Club guide in the glove box or under the seat and that was about it if you
were road-tripping down the Baja.

Inthose early days when I would routinely
drive up and down the often-lonely-always-bumpy Baja several times a year, some
of those were the best stays I ever had.

There were
three kinds of nights.

Sleep in
the car or truck on the side of the road curled up under the steering wheel.

Pull over
in the dark. Camp on the side of
the road or beach. Never quite sure where you pitched your tent until you woke
up the next day.

Cheap rooms
sometimes meant "economical."Sometimes, it meant exactly what it said...CHEAP!Single light bulb hanging from the
ceiling with a pull-chain.Threadbare towels the size of a dishtowel. Worn mattress on top of a
concrete slab and a TV with rabbit ears made of a clothes hangar.

But those
were the exception. More often than not, off the road and to the left meant
finding a little Baja gem.They
still exist.The scenario didn't
differ.

I would
eventually be forced to make a choice prompted by tired eyes and diminishing
light.Down the road and to the
left. Often down a dirt or gravel
washboard. Sometimes parting a herd
of goats or rousting the lazy dog.

And the
trees would open and there it would be.

Often on
the beach. Often only one or two other cars and a well-used hotel pick up truck
in the parking lot and lit by yellow bug lights illuminating concrete walls,
terra cotta tiles,and a palapa
roof.

Lots of
tangledbouganvillia vines
climbing the old columns and up the terraces. Maybe an old fountain in the
brick courtyard. Maybe not.But thesavory smell of grilling corn tortillas and searing meat
coming from somewhere. The faint sound of an old mariachi tune off an 8-track
or the sound of a TV playing a soccer team carries over the early evening air.

Family
owned and happy to see you with big smiles.As you check in, family pictures on the walls.A cheap Baja calendar over the check-in
desk. Mama happily checks you
in.

Lo siento,
Senor!No credit cards, but rooms
are $15 U.S. Will that be okay?

It's a
deal.Papa comes in
"Bienvenidos, Amigo! (Welcome!) and helps with your luggage to a clean
little room. Daughter brings fresh towels again with a shy welcoming smile.This will do. There's a fuschia-colored
flower in a glass on the nightstand.Nice touch.

I follow
that wonderful aroma that caught me as I came in. Down to the little three-table cafe on the concrete slab
overlooking the beach. Pacifico Beer poster on the wall next to a faded picture
of a bullfight.

In the softyellow bug lights, there's a dry-yellowed dorado taxidermied
on the wall and some shark jaws dangling from a decorative old fishing net
tacked nearby. The soccer game
flickers from an old black and white TV.

The plastic
Corona Beer tables match, but the silverware and plates don't.Grandma in the back frying something
good. She sees you and smiles.

There's no
menus.Grandson comes out and
tells you what they are serving that night. And treats you like you're a guest in their home. Which you
are!

Tomato
salad (from their own garden)

Homemade
rice and beans

Grandma’s
corn tortillas and green tomatillo salsa

Grilled
lobster tail (proudly caught by their cousin that morning on the reef who
doubles as the gardener)

Flan

...for
eight dollars.

Is that
oky, he asks awkwardly as if he regrets charging a house guest. "Es bueno?"

I lean back
in the chair kick off my flip-flops and let my feet rest on the cool concrete.
Beer so cold the icy liquid burns the road dust at the back of my throat. Sigh.
Slow exhale.Inhale the salty
beach air.Ahhhhh... And watch the
sun go down on the Sea of Cortez.